


But I Still Want To Play With It

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Biting, Cuddling, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, F/F, F/M, Hair Braiding, Hair Pulling, Jealousy, Marking, Rough Sex, Selfcest, Vaginal Fingering, bratty sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23521090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Occasionally, the Doctor wished she believed in something like karma, or maybe some kind of cosmic force that guided things. Because then she could at least pinpoint that it was payback for all of the mayhem and... everything else that she'd committed over the course of her long life.But there wasn't.It was just her, stuck between two variations of the same genocidal maniac, constantly at each other's throats. Unless it was technically his throat. Her throat? Their throat?The Doctor, the Master, and Missy, all in one TARDIS together.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Missy, Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)/Missy
Comments: 22
Kudos: 109
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	But I Still Want To Play With It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flammenkobold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/gifts).



> Title taken from _Baby Boy_ by Mother Mother.

The Doctor knew, in her bones and in her hearts, that traveling with the Master was a bad idea. Even at the best of times (had there ever been a best of times?) the two of them got on each other's nerves, and two edgy Time Lords snapping at each other was never a good thing. Best case scenario, there was a good deal of expensive property damage. 

But having the Master here, with her, meant that he wasn't off doing who even knew what. They might have been snapping and shouting at each other (and fucking like weasels, since all that annoyance seemed to be channeling itself as lust this go 'round), but at least he wasn't getting into any kind of real trouble. 

In theory. 

And then Missy came along. Because of course she did. She had to show up at exactly the wrong moment, too, when the two of them were dealing with an especially unpleasant trade agreement, and then the Doctor was keeping the two of them from murdering each other while also solving a centuries long family feud, and by the time she'd gotten back to the TARDIS, the both of them were standing on either side of her, sniping over her shoulders.

Missy had airily announced that she would be staying "for a while," and when the Doctor had pointed out that _maybe_ it was a bad idea to have multiple regenerations in one place together for too long (and the Master had stomped about like a child having a tantrum),Missy had waved her away dismissively. Truthfully, the Doctor was too flustered by the whole mess, and now Missy had her own room and would sit around making snide commentary while the Doctor was trying to do repairs, or cook, or read a book, or, well... do anything. 

Occasionally, the Doctor wished she believed in something like karma, or maybe some kind of cosmic force that guided things. Because then she could at least pinpoint that it was payback for all of the mayhem and... everything else that she'd committed over the course of her long life.

But there wasn't. 

It was just her, stuck between two variations of the same genocidal maniac, constantly at each other's throats. Unless it was technically his throat. Her throat? Their throat?

Maybe the reason the old fuddy duddies had said it was dangerous to have multiple regenerations in one place wasn't because of dangers to the time stream or anything like that. Maybe it was just what it did to the grammar. 

Maybe she was just focusing on things she shouldn't have been, so she didn't have to think about any of this. 

* * *

"Maybe if you stopped... winding her... up," the Doctor mumbled. Her fingers were tangled in the Master's hair, forcing his head back, “you might get on.” 

The Master pulled back, and his eyes were as limpid and dark as ever, his lips swollen from kissing her, his tongue pink and wet. She kissed him again, because his mouth looked so inviting, and he moaned into her mouth, sagging back into the bed. He liked it when she took charge like this, grabbed him and forced him this way and that. 

“I don’t want to get on with her,” the Master mumbled as he shoved at her braces. He pushed them off of her shoulders, down her arms, and then she was wriggling against him. He was hard in his trousers, pressing the bulge of his erection against her thigh, and he gasped when she pressed her leg against it. 

“Why not?” The Doctor’s hands went to the Master’s trousers, unbuttoning them and reaching inside. She found him hard, the skin slick and silky against her palm. She gave a squeeze, just this side of too hard, and he moaned guttorally, his hips jerking forward. He was humping into the channel of her fist, his hips wriggling, and she almost wished she could see it. 

There was something alluring about watching the lump of her hand under the fabric, and something exciting about how _ashamed_ he looked. She pressed her face into his neck, and she used her free hand to push his collar to the side and sink her teeth into his shoulder. 

The muscles spasmed under her, and his cock twitched in her hand. She sucked a little harder, and he groaned in her ear, his hands digging into her own shoulders. They moved down, to squeeze her breasts awkwardly through her t-shirts and her bra, and then lower still, into her knickers, against the waistband of her drooping trousers. 

“I just don’t,” the Master ground out. He pinched her in the ribs, and she retaliated by dragging her nails roughly along his shaft, pulling a little too hard on his foreskin. There was a great gush of pre-come against her hand, dripping down between her fingers, and she squeezed him again, then shuddered as his own fingers slid inside of her, like a knife between the ribs. 

“That’s not an answ _er_ ,” the Doctor said, her voice cracking as his thumb found her clit, rolling over it with just enough roughness. His fingers curled inside of her, just this side of cruel, and she clenched around the sweet intrusion. He was curling his fingers, and his knuckles bulged, stretching her out just this side of perfect. 

“Well, it’s the only answer you’re getting,” the Master ground out. 

The Doctor pulled her hand out of his trousers, and he made a disgruntled noise but kept rubbing her. The pads of his fingers were _right_ on her g-spot, and it was good enough to make her toes curl and her knees weak. She clutched at his lapels (he made an annoyed noise when she got his pre-come on his coat, which made her snicker), and rested her forehead against his. He kept rubbing her clit with his thumb, and he was stretching his fingers inside of her. She could hear it, and she’d be embarrassed, but it felt too good to be true. She clenched around him, and then she sobbed, as her orgasm filled her up like a supernova. She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, and she panted, sweat dripping down her back, her eyes squeezed shut. 

“Well,” the Master said, and his voice rumbled through her, buzzing along her skin. He sounded entirely too smug, and she kissed him, digging her teeth into his lower lip and tugging on his hair. She liked the way he moaned into her mouth, liked the way he gasped against her. 

“Take your trousers down,” she told him when she’d pulled back.

“Going to return the favor?” He took a step down, fiddling with the waist of his trousers. When he pushed them down, his cock sprang up, hitting the hem of his shirt. He looked down at his cock, then up at her, his expression expectant. 

“Not exactly,” the Doctor said, and she shoved him, forcing him back onto the bed, his trousers around his knees. She pulled her shirts up and over her head, taking her sports bra with it, and then she was kicking her knickers off with her trousers, and she stood in front of him naked. “Well?”

“Well what?” He looked up at her, and his face might have been read as “reverential,” if he were a different sort of person.

“Aren’t you going to get naked, too?” She straddled his lap, her knees pressed into his sides, the lips of her cunt dragging wetly across the shaft of his cock. 

“A bit… hard to concentrate,” the Master mumbled, his hands on her hips.

She took some pity on him, hastily unbuttoning his shirt while she ground her hips forward. She was building up towards another orgasm, and by the time his bare skin was pressed against hers the emptiness inside of her was almost _painful_. She positioned herself over him, and then there was the slide of him, slick and full, pulsing with his hearts.

The Master groaned, deep in the back of his throat. He pressed his forehead against hers, and they panted against each other’s mouths. His hand went between the two of them, where their bodies were joined, and his fingers traced along the bits of his shaft he could touch, over her labia, to press his thumb against her clit. She clenched around him, and he groaned like he was in pain. 

“I don’t know why you hate her so much,” the Doctor mumbled against his mouth, and she ground her hips forward. She wrinkled her nose when he made an annoyed noise, ruffling her hair across her face, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, pushing his shirt further down his arms.

"I _was_ her," the Master reminded her, and he gasped, raked his nails down her sides, to grab her arse and pull her closer, plunging himself deeper. "I know what she needs." He groaned, and then he shuddered. His thumb was pressed against her clit, and she whimpered as the waves of hot, desperate pleasure washed over her again. 

"I think you're just... mmm..." The Doctor clenched around the Master again, as he began to rub a little harder. She yanked his head to the side by the hair, baring his neck, and then she sank her teeth into the spot right under his ear, and sucked like she was trying to draw out poison. 

He sobbed, and she bit down harder. She could taste pennies, and she yanked at his hair again harder to feel his cock flex inside of her. He moaned, and his cock twitched inside of her. "Oh," he mumbled. "You think I'm just _what_?" 

The Master gasped, and his cock pulsed inside of her. His face went open and ugly as he came, and it filled her in a flood of heat. He was still rubbing her clit as she sucked on his neck, and he gasped as she seized up around him, her cunt pulsing, squeezing him tight. She went limp against him, her face in his neck, and she could still taste the metal of his blood. 

"I think you're a lot of things," the Doctor said, because it was the most diplomatic answer she could think of, and she didn't want to get into another argument while she still had his cock inside of her. 

"That's not an answer," the Master grumbled, and his voice resonated through his chest, up against her own, his chest hair ticklish against her bare breasts. 

“You can’t always get what you want,” the Doctor said. She pressed a little kiss to the dark mark she’d left, right under his ear. She probably shouldn’t have left that, come to think of it, but she’d worry about that later. 

“If you start quoting Earth music at me, I’m going to bite you on the cunt the next time I eat you out,” the Master said, although he sounded sleepy enough that he probably wouldn’t remember. 

“Then I just won’t let you eat me out,” the Doctor said, sitting up and disentangling herself from him. 

“Sounds like cutting off your nose to spite your own face,” the Master drawled, flopping on his back, his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked properly debauched, his cock soft against his thigh and his hair a sweaty mess. The love bite on the side of his neck stood out like a black eye, and the sight of it made something in her clench with another wave of tired arousal.

“You’ve got a high opinion of yourself,” the Doctor said, but she lay down beside him, her thighs still sticky with his orgasm.

“Someone has to,” he said, and his hand found hers, their fingers interlacing. It was more affection than he’d normally show while sober (or otherwise… emotionally uncompromised), but if he wasn’t going to say anything, she wasn’t either. 

* * * 

The Doctor didn't realize just how... lurid the hickey she'd given the Master was, until she saw it the next day. He hadn't made any effort to hide it - if anything, he'd shoved down the collar of his shirt, so that it was that much more noticeable. She rolled her eyes when she saw him press two fingers against the dark mark, but... well, he was just like that. 

She was flat on her back, fiddling with the wiring under a control panel, and then the Doctor was being grabbed by the ankle and being pulled out. She blinked up at Missy, who was pouting down at her coquettishly. "It occurs to me, Doctor, that we haven't really gotten to know each other... properly." 

"What are you talking about?" The Doctor pushed her goggles up, squinting up at Missy. She could see up Missy's skirt if she wasn't careful, and she carefully kept her eyes on Missy's (upside down) face. All that time she was spending in bed with the Master (and on couches with the Master, and against walls with the Master, and in showers with the Master... had she ever been this oversexed?) seemed to be having an impact. Of a sort. 

"It occurs to me," said Missy, and she was still just _standing_ there, looking down at the Doctor, still with that pout. She used to pout at the Doctor's last incarnation like that. It had usually resulted in mayhem, "that you seem much more acquainted with my other self." 

"Well," said the Doctor, and she sat up, leaning against the panel, "considering the fact that _you shouldn't be here in the first place_." She glared up at Missy, and Missy smiled serenely down at her. 

"You could kick me out of your TARDIS without any trouble," said Missy, and she sat down on the floor next to the Doctor, tucking her legs under her and drawing her skirt over her knees. "I think your TARDIS might even agree with me on the matter. Spoiled little thing doesn't seem to like me." She patted a wall panel, and the lights dimmed for a moment. 

"She probably realizes that the two of you are a paradox waiting to happen," said the Doctor. _Or she's a good judge of character_ , she didn't add, although she was sorely tempted. 

"Paradox-shmaradox," Missy said, making a dismissive hand gesture. "You know that if I'm here, I'm not off causing mayhem elsewhere." She smiled beatifically at the Doctor, and it was making all of the hairs on the back of the Doctor's neck stand on end. 

"I have a feeling that you could find a way," the Doctor said dryly. "And I know you."

"Eyebrows knew me," Missy said, and she prodded the Doctor in the sternum. " _You_ don't." 

"That was me," the Doctor pointed out. Missy's hand was flat on her chest now, over one of her hearts. She was trying to ignore how warm it was, and the way her hearts were beating quite so... fast. 

"It was you, but it isn't you now. You see things differently than he ever did." Missy brought her hand up, towards the Doctor's face, and then she was cupping the Doctor's face, her thumb resting on the Doctor's cheekbone. 

The Doctor wrapped a hand around Missy's wrist, and she removed Missy's hand from her face. "We're both the same people," she said firmly. 

"Excellent," Missy said brightly. "You hold me and... him in the same esteem." The way her nose wrinkled made it clear who she was talking about. 

"I need to get back to fixing that," the Doctor said, indicating the panel with her thumb.

"You have time to dally with _him_ ," Missy groused, and she crossed her arms over her chest, "yet somehow you don't have time for -"

"Oh wow, you're jealous," the Doctor said, and she began to giggle. She leaned back against the panels, and the giggling turned into laughter. As she laughed harder, Missy's expression got darker and darker. 

"I am _not_ jealous," Missy insisted. "I just... think you have better taste than anything with _him_." 

"He's you," the Doctor pointed out.

"So you're not denying that you're dallying with him?" Missy jabbed a finger at the Doctor again, and the Doctor intercepted Missy's finger before it got her in the sternum again. 

"I don't have to tell you anything," the Doctor said, and then she looked down, when Missy's interlaced their fingers together. 

"Don't you want to share anything with your best enemy?" Missy brought the Doctor's hand up to her face, and she kissed the back of it. 

“Missy, what do you _want_?” The Doctor pulled her hand back, rested it on her own leg.

“You gave him a whopper of a love bite, right here,” said Missy, and she pressed her thumb against the exact same spot where it was on the Master. “Where’s _mine_?”

“Yours?” The Doctor hadn’t expected… that. “I didn’t mean to give it to him,” she said, although she was aware of how weak her voice sounded.

"But you don't deny that you gave it to him!" Missy said, in the tone of someone who was winning an argument.

"... No," said the Doctor, because there didn't seem to be a way for her to get away from that.

"Well, it's only _fair_ ," said Missy. She leaned in closer to the Doctor. "I don't want to feel left out. I get sad when I'm left out, and then I get destructive. I'm like an adorable, neglected little cocker spaniel!" 

The Doctor resisted the urge to knock her head into the wall panel beside her. "Why don't you go back to the vault?" She suggested. "I know that -"

"Eyebrows hasn't been around," Missy said, and she waved her hand dismissively. "Besides, I like you." 

"You could act like you like me," the Doctor said. "As a thought."

"I _do_ ," Missy said, and she leaned her head against the Doctor's shoulder. Her hair was ticklish against the Doctor's cheek, and the Doctor could catch hints of her shampoo, and the spicy, sharp scent of her perfume. "That's what our relationship is like. I threaten to kill you, you thwart me, I kidnap one of your pet humans, you ruin my plans yet again..." Missy's hand came up, making a circling motion with her hand. "Around and around we go." 

The Doctor sighed, and her arm came up in spite of herself, holding Missy closer to her. The Time Lady sounded faintly forlorn, and the Doctor was still smarting over... well, all of that. "I'm sorry," she said, because she couldn't really think of anything else to say. 

Missy snorted, and she snuggled up to the Doctor. Her hand was on the Doctor's leg, and she gave it a squeeze, her fingers ticklish as they moved down lower, to the Doctor's bare shin. It was raising goosebumps. 

This was... nice. She hadn't really been much for physical affection, the last go 'round, but once and a while the mood had struck her. She'd cuddled up with Missy, in Missy's massive bed back in the vault. Admittedly, back then she hadn't had any kind of interest in sex, and now here she was, acutely aware of the way that Missy's breasts were pressing into her arm and just how nice it would be to press her face between them and -

"Am I interrupting something?" The Master's voice was silky, and the Doctor was jolted out of her navel gazing. 

The Doctor blinked, and she looked up at the Master. The man could move as quiet as a cat when he wanted to. 

"Probably," Missy said, and her voice was as tart as a crab apple. "You have the knack."

"Not as much as you do, seeing as you just waltzed in here like you belonged," the Master said, and he crossed his arms across his own chest.

The Doctor shook off Missy's arm, and she stood up, stretching, her hands at her lower back. "Both of you, quit it," she said. "I swear, how do you not get along with _yourself_?" She wasn't going to bring up her own... adventures with meeting her former incarnations. The Master and Missy didn't need to know about that, whether to preserve the time stream... or her own dignity. 

"I'd think you'd rather we be at odds," Missy said, and it was her turn to use a silky voice. She was still sitting, and her hand was going around the Doctor's bare shin, her palm very smooth and very warm. "Think of the mischief we might get to, if the two of us got together?"

The Doctor didn't really have a response to that. "I'm going for a swim," she said instead, which wasn't exactly an answer, but would at least get the two of them out of her hair for a little while. They'd probably dream up some madcap scheme that she'd have to deal with in the near future, but that was a problem for the future Doctor.

Future Doctor was probably, even now, shaking her fist at present Doctor (who would be past Doctor in that case, which... well, that was a headache) but whatever.

The Doctor had found herself taking that route more often as late. That was probably unhealthy. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and she made her way towards the swimming pool. At least she'd feel better for getting a few laps in. And who knew, maybe the Master and Missy would find a way to work their differences out. 

Although then again, that might not be a good thing. 

* * *

Some time later, the Doctor sat on a huge, squishy sofa, reading a book. It was an old graphic novel that one of the companions had left, ages ago. Maybe Bill, or Rory? Since Missy and the Master had started staying with her, the Doctor had begun to go through the library. She didn't want to set those two on some hapless planet any more than she needed to. 

Her muscles ached pleasantly, and she was tired, in a way that she normally didn't feel. She'd pushed herself, swimming back and forth, and then she'd sat in the steam room until she half expected herself to crack open and start whistling like a lobster. It was nice, to sit in an old pair of shorts (she had a feeling these had belonged to Ace) and a tank top that she'd found in an old drawer, letting the softness of the sofa and the coolness of the air stroke across her skin. 

She was just using this body so much _more_ than the last one - she hadn't been much for her body, the last go 'round. Not really interested in sex in and of itself, not really interested in exercise. She'd liked food, though. Still liked food, this go 'round, but she couldn't remember a regeneration where she _didn't_ like food. 

"You look cozy," said the Master, insinuating himself between the bookshelves and flopping onto the couch. She had to lift her legs up quickly, or else they'd be sat on.

"What've you been up to?" The Doctor let the Master maneuver, and then he was flopping over, his head on her torso, his ear pressed into her stomach. He ended up cuddled up between her legs, her heel digging into his side and her other foot dangling off the couch. His face was stubbly enough that she could feel it prickling through her t-shirt, and she ran absent fingers through his hair. He was dressed comfortably - sweatpants and a t-shirt. At least he wasn't swanning around in his usual outfit, all of his various chains and buttons pressed into her in uncomfortable ways. 

"Trying to break into the TARDIS controls so we can go and do something _fun_ ," the Master grumbled, and he shifted against her, until he was face down, his legs dangling off the edge of the couch. He sighed, clutching her closer to him as her fingers ruffled his hair against the grain, then smoothed it back down. 

"You could just ask," the Doctor pointed out. "Something like, 'hey, Doctor, I want to go to the beach' or something similar." 

"Why would I want to go to the beach?" The Master's hands were sliding up under the hem of her shirt, and his palms were warm and smooth, his fingers ticklish as they passed over the soft padding covering her ribs, the tips of his fingers just barely touching the band of her sports bra. 

"Sun, sand, surf." The Doctor set her book down on the floor, carefully, and she began to pet him with both hands, burying her fingers in his hair and resting her palm on the curve of his skull. "I'm sure there's other things there that start with "s" that I'm missing." She tugged his hair, gently, right at the roots, and he hissed. "I know you're going to try to ruin my good mood by saying something violent," she told him, her tone stern. "Don't even think about it."

"Why Doctor," said the Master, "have your telepathy skills improved?" He was squirming. She had a feeling he was horny, although his body language was too relaxed to give much away. Inasmuch as he ever relaxed. He always seemed a few seconds away from jumping into action, usually towards your face, teeth first. 

"No," said the Doctor, and she tugged his hair again, then went back to stroking it. "I just know how you think." He wasn't groping her, wasn't grabbing anything. He was even relaxing into the couch, into her body. He could probably hear her hearts beating, and the gurgle of her stomach. It was peaceful - she half wished she had a fire in the grate, to complete the feel, or maybe a blanket to drape over him.

And then she heard the familiar tapping of Missy's boots on the hardwood, and then silence, and more tapping, as Missy moved across rugs, towards the couch. It was taking effort not to sit up, not to pull her hands out of the Master's hair. Why was she feeling _guilty_ about cuddling with him?

"Was I not invited to the cuddle party?" Missy was looking down at the two of them, one eyebrow up. Compared to their dressed down appearance, she looked positively _fancy_. 

“You weren’t invited in the first place,” the Master said, and he nuzzled into the Doctor’s belly, his voice buzzing against her skin. “You could take that as a sign.” He tilted his head back into her hand, as she kept stroking his hair. 

Missy rolled her eyes, and she didn't say anything else, just turned on her heel and made her way out of the library. 

That was faintly worrying. The Doctor always worried when Missy went quiet. 

"You should kick her off," the Master mumbled, as he stretched against her. His face was moving up now, as he wriggled further along her body. He pressed his nose into the space between her breasts, and she felt even more tension leave his body, as he listened to her heartbeats. She'd never understood why he found it so relaxing - maybe it counteracted the drums? 

"Why don't you like her?" The Doctor scratched along his scalp, gently, and he sighed, wriggling against her. "I'd think the two of you would be thick as thieves." He had an erection now, and it was pressing against her thigh. 

"You've been around your past regenerations," said the Master. "You know how uncomfortable it is." He tilted his head to the side, as she traced along the thinner hair at his temples. 

"Her and your regeneration before that got along _swimmingly_ ," said the Doctor. She moved her fingers further along his head, until she was sinking into the thick hair at the top of his head again, fingers sliding through it. "Unsettlingly so."

"Why do you care so much? You should just kick her off." His hips were rocking, grinding his cock into her thigh, and she snorted, pulling her leg away. He made a frustrated noise, trying to press closer, and she grabbed his hair in her fist, tugging on it hard enough that he moaned, but stopped trying to hump her. 

"Because I do," said the Doctor, because she was too tired to try to explain her own complicated feelings about what had happened to Missy. 

"I'm not one of your human pets, that you can just give enigmatic answers to and think that I'll go along with it," the Master warned. "Give me a real answer." 

"Well," said the Doctor, and she let go of him, putting her hands behind her head in a very pointed way, "if you're going to make demands from me like that, _I_ don't have to cuddle you like this. We can go back to -"

"Fine, fine," the Master said, and there was a needy, whining note in his voice that made her stomach clench in ways that weren't entirely unpleasant. "I'll behave, keep petting me."

"Not even a please?" She tugged on his hair again, a little harder this time. 

He squirmed, his hips rolling, and she snorted. 

"You _were_ her," the Doctor said. "Don't you remember any of this?" She dug her nails into his scalp, and she felt the short hairs prickle against the pads of her fingers. 

"It's all mixed up," the Master murmured. "What with everything else rattling around." He nuzzled into her wrist. 

"What, your memories?" She wasn't sure how to respond to that. As confusing as her own memories were, she could more or less tell fact from fiction. Her hearts twisted at the state of his mind, but there had always been something… broken in her dearest enemy. She didn't know if she could ever fix it, but at least she could be here with him. 

"You of all people should know that memories are easy to manipulate and erase," the Master said, then: "pet me more."

The Doctor rolled her eyes, and she yanked his hair, hard enough to force his head back. That had been a low blow - unnecessarily low. 

He moaned theatrically, wriggling against her, and he was _definitely_ humping against her thigh now, his hips rolling forward. She pressed her thigh against him once, as a tease, and then she pulled away shoving at his shoulders.

"Up," the Doctor said sharply, and then she was squirming out from under him, standing up straight on the rug and rearranging her clothes so they didn't lie so sloppy.

"What?" The Master blinked at her, his eyes hazy. He was still flopped on the couch, grinding his hips, and he looked like he was shaking, just a bit. She shouldn't have gotten the perverse pleasure from seeing him that worked up. She shouldn't have gotten quite so aroused, either, but then again, she'd never been good at doing what she was supposed to do. 

"You're being obnoxious," the Doctor said. "I don't like being around you when you're obnoxious."

"So why do you ever like being around him at all," called Missy from another part of the library, and the Doctor jumped. There was something faintly spooky about how quiet she could be, when she wanted to be. She always seemed to take up so much _space_ , and the way she could just disappear into the background seemed counter intuitive. 

The Doctor shook her head - she didn't want to deal with more of their bickering. She bent to pick up her book, and then she was making her way out. She was acutely aware of two different pairs of eyes on her, of two minds gently probing her own. She made a point of ignoring both.

* * *

Some time later (at least 2 sleeps), the Doctor was washing dishes when Missy came stalking into the kitchen. She wasn't dressed as nicely this time - her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she didn't appear to be wearing a corset under her frock. 

"Why bother doing that?" Missy leaned against the counter beside the Doctor, crossing her arms across her chest. 

"Helps me clear my head," the Doctor said. "Keeps my hands busy, and the TARDIS has been getting grumpy at me fiddling with her so much." The Doctor had a feeling that the TARDIS was more grumpy at the fact that there were two regenerations of an old enemy wandering around inside of her, but the Doctor didn't need to bring that up to Missy. 

“What’s got your head so busy?” Missy drummed her fingers on her arm. She looked… antsy, which was always enough to make the Doctor antsy in turn. 

The Doctor didn’t say anything, just looked at her sidelong. 

Missy smiled like a shark, with too many teeth. “Look at it this way,” she said cheerfully. “You can tell I’m not plotting, when I come around to bother you.”

“You’re smart enough to plot and bother me at the same time,” the Doctor said, keeping her tone neutral. 

"Aren't you trying to rehabilitate me for the better of society everywhere, or something?" Missy gave an expansive shrug, and the Doctor wasn't really sure how to respond. _I already tried, and look where it got me_ was on the tip of her tongue, but that was something like a spoiler, wasn't it? 

"What do you _want_ , Missy?" the Doctor said, and she reached over, turning the water off. She kept her eyes on her hands, which were red, the knuckles bulging. Her fingers were starting to wrinkle up at the tips, and she could see the tan line where her coat covered her hands. 

"For you to run off with me and forget about the rest of the universe," said Missy, and that was enough candor that the Doctor looked over at her, eyes wide. "Failing that," Missy said, "braid my hair."

It took the Doctor a moment to absorb what it was that Missy had said. "What?"

"My hair," Missy said, and she twisted a piece of it around one finger. She was batting her eyelashes like a coquette at the Doctor, and the Doctor found herself blushing. "We're both girls now, right? And I'd like to get to know you."

"You are getting to know me," the Doctor pointed out, and she turned to face Missy, crossing her arms across her chest, then letting them fall down to her sides. Her sleeves were rolled up towards her elbows, and she could feel Missy's eyes sweeping across her. 

"You're getting to know... _him_ ," Missy said, and she wrinkled her nose.

"Why don't you like him?" The Doctor still couldn't wrap her head around just how much Missy and the Master didn't seem to get along. She hadn't been bothered by how unhinged her previous incarnation had been, and yet.

"Because," Missy said, "I _like_ being me. I like being who I am, not who he is. And besides..." She wrinkled her nose. "He's so... vulgar."

_Because you turning all of humanity's dead into cybermen isn't vulgar_ , the Doctor thought, but her face must have given something away, because Missy's face broke into a sunny smile. 

"I may be just as evil as he is, my dear Doctor," Missy said, "but I've at least got some style about it." She took the Doctor's hand in her own, and she squeezed it. "So will you braid my hair?"

"Why do you want me to braid your hair?" The Doctor was trying very hard not to be hypnotized by the way Missy's fingertip was stroking along the back of her hand. It was hypnotizing; Missy's skin was slightly cooler than the Master's. She didn't seem to burn with that same fever bright intensity. She was softer, though. 

"Because we're both girls now," said Missy. "That's how girls bond. They braid each other's hair and talk about world domination and cute boys, things like that."

"I don't think most girls talk about world domination," the Doctor said, her voice dry. 

"Well, they don't know what they're missing out on," Missy said firmly. "I know you can braid hair, I remember you doing your granddaughter's hair."

Mentioning Susan was a secret weapon, and Missy had to know that it would probably have the impact it did. At least she didn't pull that one too often, thankfully. 

"Alright," the Doctor said, and she sighed. "Alright. I'll braid your hair."

"Excellent," Missy said, and she clapped her hands in unfeigned delight. "Meet me in my bedroom!" She turned on her heel, and she was off.

The Doctor stared after her, faintly stunned. Had she just been seduced, or was she about to walk into a trap? With Missy - with the Master, with any incarnations of the mad being she loved and hated with all of her hearts - it could sometimes be both. 

She'd just have to wait and see.

* * *

Missy's room was surprisingly small, and it was furnished almost exactly the way the Doctor had expected it to be. Lots of dark wood furniture and red velvet, with splashes of vivid color. Missy was sitting on the bed, cross legged, her long, wild hair loose around her shoulders. She smiled at the Doctor, and the Doctor tried not to think of sharks and bear traps and black holes. 

"How lovely of you to come," Missy said, and she leaned back on her arms. She had changed out of the dress, and was now wearing something white and voluminous. It didn't suit her - it looked like the sort of thing a consumptive heroine should have been wearing in a certain class of gothic story. 

The Doctor was more reminded of a creepy porcelain doll. She had a feeling that may have been what Missy was going for. It didn’t seem like Missy could do anything in a benign way.

"You did invite me," the Doctor pointed out. She kicked her shoes off, and she came to sit on the bed besides Missy. There was a hairbrush resting on the coverlet, and it looked like the kind of thing that would feature in a certain kind of spanking porn video.

Not that the Doctor had watched many of those. 

At least, not in this regeneration. 

"That's true," said Missy, and she sighed, looking over her shoulder at the Doctor. "When was the last time you did something like this?" Missy wrinkled her nose. "Apart from your cuddle system with him the other day, I suppose."

The Doctor snorted. "You're the only person I've ever known to be jealous of themselves," she told Missy, as she picked up the hairbrush and took a section of Missy's hair into her hand. She began to brush starting at the roots. She had been doing Susan's hair, all those years ago - maybe she'd been doing her own hair, way back when? Not that Missy would know about that, Missy didn't know about any of that yet, did she? 

"Nonsense," Missy said, and she sighed, leaning forward. "Wouldn't you get jealous if you ran into one of your past selves and one of your human pets liked them better than you?" 

"It's still me," said the Doctor, although she had a feeling Missy had a point. She hated it when Missy had a point. She'd gotten annoyed at her past selves in the past, although she had a feeling some of it was just growing up. Didn't humans have a similar experience? Amy had always gotten hostile when the Doctor had mentioned her as a child, but then again, it was Amy. She reacted with hostility to a lot of things.

"He's just so... messy," said Missy, after about a minute. The hairbrush going through her hair made a quiet scratching sort of noise, and Missy seemed to be relaxing, just a bit. It was so much like the Master had been, cuddling up to the Doctor on the couch. 

"You've done messy things as well," the Doctor pointed out, as she slowly worked farther up Missy's head. 

"Why are you trying to make us make nice?" Missy was leaning forward, going slightly boneless. Her breathing was getting more steady, almost in time with the passes of the brush. 

"You shouldn't be here," the Doctor said, and she kept her tone gentle, "but you don't seem to be listening to me when I tell you to leave, and I know better than to force you."

"You've gotten your way before," Missy pointed out. Her voice sounded drowsy. 

"When I force you to do something, you come back, usually more annoyed." She was at the crown of Missy's head now, and Missy's hair was soft against her fingers. She gave it a gentle tug, unthinkingly, the same way she had with the Master, and Missy shuddered, her head lolling back. 

"That's because you know that I'm right, and I wish you'd just acknowledge it," Missy mumbled. She sighed, as the Doctor let go of her hair and put down the hairbrush.

"I'm not even going to argue with that," said the Doctor as she began to separate Missy's hair into three sections. She remembered how to do this, more or less. The last time she had tried it had been on a loaf of bread, admittedly, but it was the same principle, right? 

At least Missy's hair was less sticky, and it didn't have any raisins in it. 

"Why not? You can argue with anything." Missy made a surprised noise, as the Doctor tugged her hair tight, pulling it back from her scalp. 

"We're having such a lovely time," the Doctor said absently. "I don't want to ruin it with an argument." She was concentrating on braiding Missy's hair - it was surprisingly engrossing. She needed to do this sort of thing more often. Maybe after the Master calmed down ( _if the Master ever calmed down_ , whispered the traitorous part of her brain that she pointedly ignored) she could bring the fam back on board, and ask to do Yaz's hair. Yaz had lovely hair, although it wasn't quite as thick as Missy's. 

"You're thinking about one of your stupid humans again," Missy grumbled. "Can't you just concentrate on _me_ for a change?"

"You're not the only person in my head," the Doctor said, and she gave Missy's half finished braid a tug. "I know you want to be, but it doesn't work like that." 

“What if I want it to work like that?” Missy’s tone was petulant.

The Doctor grabbed Missy’s braid, and she pulled it, hard enough to force Missy’s head back. “You might want it to work like that,” she said, “but all the wanting in the world isn’t going to make it happen.”

Missy moaned, and the Doctor wasn’t sure if she should have let go, or kept pulling. She didn’t do either at this point, just held on. 

“At least try to make nice with him,” she said, and then she went back to braiding Missy’s hair. “Please. Since you keep insisting on staying here.”

“Well,” Missy said, and she cleared her throat. “I suppose I could… try.” There was a pause, as the Doctor kept braiding her hair. “I make no promises,” she added.

“Good,” said the Doctor. It felt like there had been a significant conversation, and yet the Doctor couldn’t put her finger on just what had transpired. 

"Do I get a reward if I do good?" Missy's voice was taking on a slightly... sensual tone, and the Doctor tried to ignore the way that it was sliding over her skin, rubbing her like warm velvet.

"Depends on what the reward is," the Doctor said. She had finished the braid, and she took a hair tie off of the bed, to slip over the edge of Missy's braid. She wrapped Missy's braid around her fist, and she tugged Missy's head back. "What would you like?"

Missy's breath hitched, and she was shaking, just a bit. "A laser disintegration ray and a pony," she said, and her voice was breathless.

The Doctor gave the braid another pull. "Try again," she said. She was speaking directly into Missy's ear, and Missy's skin was breaking out into goosebumps. The Doctor pressed her face into the softness of Missy's neck, took in the familiar scent. She smelled different from the Master; there was a sharper undertone, almost metallic, without the hints of smoke that seemed to cling to him. 

"Give me a hickey like you gave him," Missy said, and she was reaching a hand back, grabbing at the Doctor's thigh and squeezing it. The other hand was... oh, yes, that was a hand between Missy's thighs, and Missy's hips were rolling against it. 

"Why?" The Doctor pressed closer, until her breasts were against Missy's back. She spread her legs open, so that her own thighs were bracketing Missy's. She rested a hand on Missy's belly, and the fabric of the dress was soft against the palm of her hand. 

"You gave _him_ one," Missy said, and her voice had a petulant whine in it that put the Doctor on edge.

The Doctor yanked on her hair again in retaliation, and Missy moaned, her hips bucking forward. The Doctor could hear the wet sounds of her cunt - she must have been especially worked up. "So if I told him to jump off a bridge?" She let her tongue trace along the shell of Missy's ear, and Missy moaned. 

"I'd at least make sure I had my parachute first," she murmured. "He's so impulsive. So stupid." Her breath hitched, as the Doctor yanked at her hair again. 

"He's you," the Doctor said, and then she was sucking on Missy's neck, right under the ear. She sucked on it until she tasted pennies, and Missy cried out. The hand not holding on to Missy's braid covered up Missy's hand. 

"Not... the... same," Missy panted. She was whimpering, which was a novel sound. The Doctor found Missy's clit, and she circled the tip of her index finger over it, pressing down, then sliding her hand down lower. Missy was clutching at the Doctor's wrist now, and her fingers were slick and pruned up with her arousal.

"Mmm?" The Doctor kept sucking, although her mouth was starting to hurt. She slid two fingers into Missy, and it was tight and clenching around her, wet enough to drip down her hand. She circled Missy's clit with her thumb, her fingers curling inside, and she let go of Missy's neck to kiss along one ear. "No?"

"You're... you're not eyebrows," Missy said. She was humping into the Doctor's hand, and she was squeezing tighter, her thighs going hard as marble against the Doctor's own legs. 

"I've got eyebrows," the Doctor pointed out, as logical as ever. She began to pump her fingers in and out of Missy a little faster, added another. She liked the way Missy's cunt clenched around her fingers, liked the way Missy's whole body went rigid and then relaxed against her. She was already getting wet herself, and she was grinding her hips forward, pressing against Missy's backside.

"Well done," Missy said, and she somehow managed to have some snark in her voice, even as she balanced over the very tip of orgasm. "You know you have eyebrows."

"I like to think I'm pretty smart," the Doctor agreed, and she made her voice intentionally cheerful, just to be obnoxious. She pulled her fingers almost all the way out, swirling the very tips at the very entrance of Missy's cunt.

Missy made a disgruntled noise. "Are you being clever now?" She was humping her hips forward, and the Doctor moved her hand back, to keep the very tips against Missy's entrance. 

"I'm always being clever," the Doctor said, and she shoved her fingers back inside of Missy, and she bit Missy, right on top of the hickey she'd already left. 

Missy came around the Doctor’s fingers, clenching them tight as they pulsed. She flopped back against the Doctor, completely boneless, and she nuzzled into the Doctor’s neck, panting. “Did you give me a bigger one than you gave him?” 

The Doctor pressed her forehead against Missy’s shoulder, and she huffed out a sigh. “I cannot believe you two,” she murmured. “Never met someone so competitive with themselves.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Missy said, her voice drowsy. She yawned widely, and she reached a hand up to feel the mark on her neck. “Oo, I can feel your teeth. Your mouth is smaller, this go ‘round.”

“Most of me is smaller, this go ‘round,” the Doctor said. She held Missy, letting herself luxuriate in the warmth of Missy’s body. 

“I’m sure we could fix that,” Missy murmured. “They sell any number of marvelous things these days, don’t they?”

The Doctor snorted, and she pulled Missy closer to her, cuddling her like a teddy bear. Arousal was pounding through her like a herd of elephants, but she was content to stay like this. She was sleepy, even as the nervous, horny energy bounced along her nerves. 

“I still want that pony,” Missy added, as the Doctor’s eyes drifted shut.

“I’ll think about it,” the Doctor mumbled, pressing her face into the back of Missy’s neck and letting her head fill with Missy’s sharp pheromones. 

* * *

A few sleeps later, the Doctor was drawn out of the storage room she had been rummaging around in (she’d had an old toy pony in here somewhere, hadn’t she? It would have been funny to give that to Missy), and then there had been noises.

Loud noises, that might have been pained noises. They sounded like Missy, and she didn’t know where the Master was, which meant that the two of them might be up to… something. 

She ran. 

She ran, and then she skidded to a stop, because that… that wasn’t pain. That very much wasn’t pain.

The Master was lying flat on his back, fully dressed, and Missy was straddling his face. She was holding her skirt up, she was looking down at him. His eyes were locked on hers, and presumably they were having… some kind of moment. The Doctor made to back away, but then Missy’s head turned towards her, and _they_ were making eye contact.

_Shouldn’t have run so loudly_ , she thought dully. She wasn’t sure why she was so embarrassed, watching the way Missy’s fingers were yanking at the Master’s hair, pushing his mouth right where she wanted it. 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” the Doctor said, and her own voice sounded strained to her ears. “I’ll just be… letting you…” This was bad. This was very bad. Whenever Missy and one of her other incarnations got together, things went _bad_. They went bad in ways that always had someone else paying for it. 

_No one else around for them to inflict themselves on, except you_ , said the rational part of her brain. She was keenly aware of the arousal pooling deep in her gut, thumping in her clit. 

“You’re not interrupting,” said Missy. She scooted back, so that she was resting on the Master’s chest, and he was looking over at her with those wide, dark eyes of his. He licked his lips, which were slick with Missy’s arousal, and it reminded the Doctor of all the times he’d done that same thing after she had sat on his face. “We were waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me,” the Doctor echoed. Her mouth was very dry, and her palms were very sweaty. 

“Aren’t you going to join us?” The Master’s voice was silky, if a little strained from the weight on his chest. “Since you told us we should get along better, we thought we’d have a go.”

_It’s a bad idea_ , said the sensible part of her mind. _This is all a bad idea, you should kick them out, you should kill them or imprison them or do anything but shag them and love them more than they’ll ever deserve._

She took a step towards the bed.


End file.
